GODSENT
A THRILLER BY
RICHARD BURTON
ARCADE PUBLISHING • NEW YORK
“For as the lightning cometh out of the east, and shineth even unto the west; so shall also the coming of the Son of Man be.” Matthew 24:27
Copyright © 2012 by Richard Burton
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available on file.
ISBN: 978-1-61145-706-3
Printed in the United States of America.
PROLOGUE
2016
Kate huddled shivering on the bare steel bunk, a cold, hard slab without a mattress or blanket. A metal toilet and sink sat in one corner, both gleaming like sterilized operating-room equipment in the glare of bright fluorescent lights set in a high ceiling that was also steel. In the center of the floor was a grated drain; somehow, that drain was the most ominous thing about the place. It could have only one purpose she could think of: the easy disposal of blood and other bodily fluids.
Speaking of which, her bladder felt like it was about to burst. But without a shred of privacy to mask her from the unseen eyes she felt sure were watching her every move, Kate couldn’t bring herself to use the toilet. It wasn’t a question of modesty. No, it felt like an act of surrender, as if she would be acquiescing in her own debasement, cooperating with whoever had broken into the compound and kidnapped her and brought her here . . . wherever “here” was. A cold metal room smaller than her bathroom at home. A cell.
She’d been awakened from a sound sleep to find a flashlight shining into her eyes, blinding her. When she’d opened her mouth to scream, a gag had been thrust roughly in. Then she’d been hooded and trussed up, all with a practiced, impersonal efficiency that, even in the midst of her terror, amazed her. These people, whoever they were, knew what they were doing. Not a word was spoken. She’d felt a sharp prick in her arm and realized she’d been injected with something.
Where were her bodyguards, Wilson and Trey? The former Navy SEALS were pushovers for nobody. But her attackers had gotten past them somehow, as well as the other guards patrolling the seaside resort. And they’d gotten past the top-of-the-line AEGIS security system, the same high-tech security system Papa Jim used in his prisons and immigrant detention facilities, which, he’d told her, more to boast than reassure, was as close to military grade as a civilian could get . . . and maybe (he’d added with a sly wink) just a tad bit closer.
God, what about Ethan?
Had they kidnapped him too? Please let him be okay! she prayed. Please . . .
As the injection took hold and she lost consciousness, Kate had felt herself lifted, and the sensation was like floating in a dream, as if she were drifting upward, lighter than air, right up through the ceiling.
When she opened her eyes again, it had been to find herself here, alone in this cold, antiseptic, metal box of a cell. She was no longer wearing her pajamas but instead an orange jumpsuit and hospital-style slippers, also orange, as if she were a captured terrorist facing interrogation. Underneath she was wearing a bra and panties . . . which wouldn’t have been so strange except for the fact that she hadn’t worn a bra to bed. She didn’t feel bruised or violated in any way beyond the gross violation of just being here, but even so, the realization that she’d been stripped and then dressed in prisoner’s garb while she lay unconscious and helpless, utterly exposed, made her sick to her stomach.
There were no windows to the cell, not even a door that she could see. For all she knew, she was buried deep underground. Nor did she have any idea how long she’d been here. Hours, surely. Perhaps days. She’d never been so frightened in her life. Yet the fear was distant somehow, muffled, and Kate guessed that whatever she’d been injected with had yet to fully wear off. Or maybe she’d been given something else to keep her calm. Sedated. Numb.
She was almost grateful for it. She wasn’t chained or tied up or anything; she could climb off the bunk if she wanted to and pace the dimensions of her cell. But she couldn’t summon the will. Besides, the idea was repugnant, as if they’d already reduced her to nothing more than an animal in a cage.
“Who are you?” she called in a voice that came out sounding more like a plea than a demand. “What do you want?”
No answer.
The only sounds were her own breathing, a faint, continuous buzz from the overhead lights, and a whisper of air from a vent located high on one wall. In that hush, more profound than any silence, the beating of her heart was like thunder in her ears.
Ethan had warned her more than once that she was in danger. Tried to send her away. Just last week he’d brought it up again. But as always, she’d refused. “I’m not going anywhere,” she told him firmly. “Not after all we’ve been through. Besides, I have faith in you, and faith moves mountains, right?”
“But does it stop bullets? Does it stop bombs?”
She hadn’t had an answer for that.
“I don’t want you to get hurt,” he pressed on, looking down at her with concern. How handsome he was, this tall, strong son of hers, this miracle who had given her life meaning when she had all but given up on life. “Things are getting crazy now. Take Trey and Wilson and make the old man fly you somewhere for a week or so. Think of it as a vacation.”
“What, just when things are getting interesting?” she joked weakly. “No way, José.”
His smile was tinged with sadness, and his eyes seemed to hold a knowledge far beyond his twenty years as he opened his arms and gathered her into a warm hug. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“For what?”
She felt him shrug. “I don’t know. Everything you’ve been through. I know it hasn’t been easy.”
“I don’t have any regrets,” she said. She drew away, holding him at arm’s length and staring into his eyes, rich brown flecked with gold. “How could I? I’m so proud of you, Ethan.”
“I hope you always will be.”
Not by any means for the first time, and she knew not for the last, either, Kate felt afraid. Afraid of what others might do to her son.
Afraid of what he might do.
Now, shivering on the steel bunk, she wondered if he was all right. The thought that he might be dead didn’t occur to her. She had no doubt whatsoever that she would have known immediately if he were. His absence from the world would have been apparent to her senses; even in the depths of whatever drugged sleep they’d imposed upon her, she would have known. The very molecules of her body would have cried out in anguish and loss. No, her son was alive, of that she was sure.
But only that.
Had he been kidnapped too? Was he nearby, lying on an identical bunk, in an identical cell, wondering about her? Was he afraid? Hurt? Or had he escaped as only he could do? Maybe she had been the solitary victim, the sole target. Ethan had many enemies . . . and even those who thou
ght of themselves as friends could be dangerous. They would not hesitate to use her to attack or manipulate him. This, she realized, was what Ethan had been afraid of. Why he’d wanted her to go away. Had insisted and insisted, until finally she’d agreed.
And yet, if she’d known what was going to happen, had somehow caught a glimpse of her future, seen herself in this ridiculous orange jumpsuit, in this stark icebox of a room, waiting apprehensively for her mysterious captors to show themselves and begin whatever process of torture or interrogation they had in mind, it wouldn’t have changed anything. She still wouldn’t have been able to refuse him.
Finally, despite her determination, Kate realized that her trip to the toilet could be postponed no longer. She swung her legs over the side of the bunk and placed her feet cautiously on the metal floor, half expecting that she would receive an electric shock for her trouble. But the only thing that transmitted itself from the floor through the thin paper soles of her slippers was an intense cold that made her toes curl and her jaw clench. God, what she wouldn’t give for a thick sweater and a pair of woolen socks!
Not until reaching the toilet did she consider the logistical difficulties presented by the orange jumpsuit. A zipper ran from the neckline to the waist; there was no choice but to unzip it and let the whole garment fall to her ankles, leaving her in bra and panties. The plain white panties were her own; the bra, absurdly, was as orange as the jumpsuit. A wave of embarrassment and anger swept through her at this forced exposure, which could have no other purpose than humiliation, and she felt her face burning as she quickly peeled the panties down to her knees and sat on the bowl.
A sharp gasp escaped her, almost a cry, and she nearly jumped back to her feet.
It was like sitting on a block of ice.
Kate fought back tears as she peed, her stream ringing tinnily against the insides of the bowl. Her body trembled with fear and rage. She felt so damn helpless. But she wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of seeing her cry. They had seen too much already. She imagined them watching now, laughing at her discomfort, her fear, making jokes about her body, the body of a forty-something-year-old woman who had borne a child, never met a piece of chocolate she didn’t like, and hadn’t exactly been a regular visitor to the gym.
Only when she was finished did she notice that there was no toilet paper. The pettiness of it seemed so childish, so unnecessary. After all that had happened, did they really think she cared? Toilet paper wasn’t exactly at the top of her list right now. Standing, Kate jerked up her panties and the jumpsuit as the toilet automatically flushed behind her. The nearby sink had no faucet; when she approached, water began to flow from the tap. It was like dipping her hands in snowmelt. The temperature in the cell seemed to drop ten degrees. She dried her hands on the sides of her jumpsuit and returned to the bunk.
The lights went on buzzing.
The air went on hissing.
The temperature continued to drop, as if the drain in the center of the floor was drawing all the heat out of the cell, sucking it up like a black hole.
Whatever had been holding her fear at a manageable distance, drugs or shock, was disappearing along with it. Kate hugged herself tight but couldn’t stop trembling. She could feel her bones vibrating, hear the chattering of her teeth.
Don’t panic, she admonished herself. If they wanted you dead, they could have killed you already.
No, her kidnappers wanted her alive. She tried again to think of who they could be, what they wanted from her. But the range of possibilities was too wide. Anyway, did it really matter whether she’d been taken by Muslim terrorists or the homegrown variety, agents of a foreign government, religious fanatics, criminals intent on a ransom? The important thing to remember was that Ethan would find her. He would save her. Even now, he must be searching for her.
Unless, of course, he was a prisoner himself . . .
But if that were so, then, in some way beyond her understanding, it was by his own choice, for there was no cell in the world that could hold her son against his will.
Have faith, she told herself. He’ll come for you.
In any case, Papa Jim was certainly looking for her with all the considerable resources, civilian and military, at his disposal. They’d had their differences over the years, and lately more than ever, but as she knew all too well, if there was one thing Jim Osbourne cared about in this world— besides power, that is—it was family. Despite everything, Kate knew her grandfather wouldn’t rest until she was safe. Her kidnappers, whoever they were, had thrown down a gauntlet by snatching her right out from under the cybernetic nose of his precious AEGIS system. That was an insult he couldn’t ignore, a challenge to his reputation and authority, his very manhood. Her kidnappers were good, obviously professionals, but they would be no match for Papa Jim. She almost felt sorry for them.
Almost.
So much for turning the other cheek, she thought. But she couldn’t help wanting them to suffer for what they’d done to her. For what they were going to do . . .
No, don’t think about that!
The waiting was torture, as it was no doubt intended to be. There was nothing she could do but pray.
And remember . . .
CHAPTER 1
1995
“Isn’t he good?” Kate whispered to Brady.
“If you like that kind of thing,” her boyfriend answered with a superior tone.
They were on the sidewalk outside the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City on an unseasonably warm Saturday afternoon in November, watching a street artist sketching caricatures of passersby. The man was fast and funny, both with his pen and his banter, and Kate had just about decided to get one done of her and Brady, a souvenir of their trip. They were flying back to Charleston tomorrow with the rest of the youth group from St. John the Baptist, and so far she’d bought presents for her father and mother and Papa Jim, but nothing for herself. She’d thought she would ask the man to draw the two of them as Rhett Butler and Scarlett O’Hara, but Brady’s dismissive response doused her enthusiasm like a bucket of cold water. “Why do you have to be so negative?”
“I’m not,” he said.
She rolled her eyes. “See? There you go again.”
This drew an appreciative chuckle from the artist, a black kid in a red beret who looked scarcely older than she was. He glanced up from his pad, where he was rapidly sketching a fidgety little girl in pigtails seated opposite him, giving her the look of Bo Peep from Toy Story, and shot her a wink.
Brady scowled and drew her aside. “I thought we were here to see art.”
Kate shook him off. “What is your problem, Brady? You’ve been snipping at me all day!”
He gave a sullen shrug. “I’m not the one with the problem.”
Kate sighed. “This is about last night, isn’t it?”
Last night, back at the hotel after seeing Cats, she and her roommate, Luanne, had been chatting and watching TV in their room when Brady had knocked at their door. Kate had been surprised to see him, to put it mildly—Sister Mary Gabriel and Sister Sarah, the chaperones for the trip, had made it crystal clear what would happen to anyone caught out of his or her room without permission—but Luanne had invited him right in. Luckily, they hadn’t changed into their pajamas yet.
“Brady,” said Kate, sitting up in bed. “What are you doing here?”
“I got kicked out,” he explained sheepishly. “Mike and Laura are up there.”
Mike was his roommate; Laura was Mike’s girlfriend.
“Oh my God,” said Luanne. She was sixteen, a year younger than Kate, a tall, lanky girl with braces and long, straight blond hair.
“Well, you can’t stay here,” said Kate.
“What am I supposed to do?” Brady asked plaintively. “Mike said it’ll just be for like an hour, and then I can go back.”
“Oh my God,” Luanne repeated, her eyes wide. “Are they, you know, doing it?”
“Luanne!” said Kate.
; “Well, are they?”
Brady’s face turned bright pink. “I don’t know, but Mike has alcohol up there.”
“Oh my God!”
“Would you stop saying that?” said Kate, annoyed.
“Sorry.” Luanne returned to her bed and flopped down.
“Whatcha watching?” Brady asked.
“Seinfeld.”
“Oh, I love that show!” He sat down gingerly on the edge of Kate’s mattress.
As Seinfeld gave way to Cheers, Brady slid incrementally up the bed, until, by the time the closing credits rolled up, he was reclining alongside her, one arm around her shoulders.
Soft snores came from the other bed.
During a commercial, he leaned over and kissed her.
Kate kissed him back; she enjoyed kissing Brady, though that was as far as she was prepared to go, as he well knew. All the members of the youth group had pledged to stay pure until marriage, and Kate took her vow seriously, even if Laura did not. As a little girl, she’d gone through a phase where she’d been what her mother had called “nun mad,” absolutely convinced that she would become a nun when she grew up; that dream had faded with other childish dreams, but her faith was still strong, and she knew that God would always be at the center of her life in one way or another.
The kiss grew more passionate, making her heart flutter. If a simple kiss could feel this good, she wondered, what must full intimacy be like? She was curious, of course, but in no rush to find out. Then she felt Brady’s hand begin to slide beneath her blouse. She gripped his wrist firmly and pushed the offending hand away. “No,” she whispered, afraid of waking Luanne.
“Come on, Kate,” Brady whispered back. “Let me touch you . . .”
“No,” she repeated.
“It’s not breaking the pledge,” he said. “You’ll still be pure.”
“I said no.”
He leaned back against the headboard and crossed his arms over his chest. “We’ve been going out since September,” he said, a petulant tone creeping into his voice. “That’s three whole months. And all we’ve ever done is kiss! I swear, I feel like I’m back in junior high or something!”
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